Guh, any excuse to repost this super hot pic of Derrick Pierce! Alison Tyler asked writers to post a piece of ‘happy porn’ and cited my story ‘Boot Camp’ (from F is for Fetish and Mammoth Erotica 8) as an example of smut which makes her smile. ‘Boot Camp’ has been described as ‘wonderfully original’ (Forum) and ‘a hilarious spin on recovery or detox centers’ (Erotica Revealed).
I mainly write on the dark side but I do a fair amount of funny too, sometimes at the same time! ‘Boot Camp’ is my celebration of sexual deviants. Here’s a taste:
The story so far: Kelly kinks for army boots and is in an institution (the Pervs’ Penitentiary) designed to cure fetishists of their obsession. As part of her aversion therapy, she’s been ordered to polish the boots of Lee (while he’s wearing them). Lee’s obsession is pussy.
My hands are trembling as I pour water into a little bowl. The sound is so refreshing. I’m in the kind of mood where I could dip my head to the water and lap like a pretty kitty but I don’t want to risk confusing the guys with cross-kinks.
And the instructions say to me: Wet a section of the cloth and wring it out. You want it damp but not dripping wet.
I twist the cloth and droplets tinkle into the bowl. Lee’s legs are solid, and his camouflage-clad shins don’t move an inch. His boots gleam, and the leather ripples around his ankles like fabric petrified mid-fall. I glance up. In his BDU pants and tight white vest, he’s a statue of flesh, his bronzed shoulders practically rigid as he breathes long and low, gazing down as I kneel at his feet. He doesn’t look at me. He looks past me, staring at a patch of grass. But I know what he’s thinking about. We all know what he’s thinking about, day and night, night and day.
I edge into a good position and flip the lid on the tin of polish, inhaling that dirty chemical smell. I wrap the damp cloth around my first two fingers, gripping it to make a nice taut surface, and I read my instructions. Dab a SMALL amount of polish on the cloth.
Begin lightly stroking the surface of the leather in small circles, working a section at a time. Small circles, over and over. Small little circles.
This is the part that makes me spin, and all my spitshine dreams are being realized. I cup Lee’s heel and start rubbing at the back, small little circles, just like the voice tells me. The polish streaks at first then it starts to smooth out, the shine rising. I do those circles over and over, more and more lightly, and the gloss starts to come. I dip my finger in the water, pinch the cloth, take a dab of polish and on and on I go, making my beautiful little circles.
It takes a long old time. Leather is skin. The polish layers have to be molecular, next to nothing, and you have to work and work, keeping it so gentle. There are no short cuts here, no quick routes to brilliance.
When I spitshine, I swear it’s like I’m becoming the boots. It’s calming and sexy, and I slip into a kind of trance. I’d like to describe it as ‘spiritual’ but I’m turned on and that seems awfully blasphemous. It’s tough to explain. Okay, let me try. It’s sort of a hot, horny meditative vibe where I’m zoned out and tuned in simultaneously; and all the arousal I ever knew is resting in my groin and a river’s running through me, so slow and so warm, and my clit is beating like a little heart, like new life, and my lust is spread across the starry starry night, thin as my layers of Parade Gloss; and no one can reach me and I’m ravenous, and that little beating heart is right at the centre of the entire fucking universe.
Yeah, that’s about how it feels.
By the time I’m working on the toes, I am God. And God has a very swollen clitoris.
Isn’t this the sexiest pic? Truly, I don’t know where to start wowwing.
Wow the first: It’s so rare to see an image of a het couple in which not only is the guy eroticised but he’s eroticised more than the woman. (Wow!) All too often, the bloke appears as an afterthought or adjunct, as if his role is simply to facilitate her sexiness.
Wow the second: Look at the beautiful, rounded bulk of his shoulders, the way his neck swoops so gracefully down to the curve of his shorn head. (Did I ever mention I like shaved heads?) See the light and shadow shaping the contours of his muscles, and the sun slanting in to gild the fuzz of hair on his legs. And, oh my, look at the way she’s all squashed, tiny and helpless beneath him, and how he looms over her, all big and strong and full of hard, dirty fuckpower. And yet there’s a tender intimacy in their nudging of noses. But look closer, you can see he’s caught her wrist in his big, strong fist. Closer still … closer … he’s murmuring, ‘Filthy little slut, don’t pretend you don’t want it.’
That photo (don’t know who it’s by, sorry) was originally the only reason for this post but, for decency’s sake, I’ll tack on two items of good news: A golden IPPY award goes to Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Best Sex Writing 2009, a collection of essays featuring my piece on the delights of sexual degradation, The Pleasure of Unpleasure.
And secondly, Maxim Jakubowski’s Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 8 gets an excellent review on Erotica Revealed. My story, Boot Camp, first published in Alison Tyler‘s fabulous F is for Fetish, is described as ‘a hilarious spin on recovery or detox centers’.
Now then, where was I? Oh yes, wow …
Ah well. Regular readers of this blog (and that one) will know I don’t go a bundle on cover art featuring headless women. And this month, I have a brace of releases featuring faceless babes … what? Wanking? Shielding their shame? Teasing the reader to slip past those fingers and into the fiction? (And by implication into her.)
These two images suggest all of the above to me and, aside from my regular grumble about the sexism of erotica books only ever featuring women, I think these covers and what they say about female sexuality are dreadful. However, right now, let’s try and get past that and celebrate what’s inside: me!
Both these Bests are out in the UK round about now. Maxim Jakubowski’s Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 8 (US link) features my story, Boot Camp, first published in Alison Tyler’s F is for Fetish. (You can read an excerpt here on AT’s Trollop Salon.) There’s a whole host of fabulous and familiar names inside: EllaRegina, Nikki Magennis, Alison Tyler, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Kristina Wright, Jeremy Edwards, Donna George Storey, Craig Sorensen and many many more. This Mammoth also has the dubious honour of being the book which started Erotica Cover Watch.
And I’m thrilled that Rachel Kramer Bussel selected my essay The Pleasure of Unpleasure for inclusion in her Best Sex Writing 2009, released last week in the UK (US release here). This is quite a personal piece I wrote on female submission and sexual degradation, first published on the group author blog, Lust Bites (and re-posted here). I wrote:
The notion that female erotica should be softer and more romantic is wildly offensive. Ditto the implication that a women who wants to be dominated by a man must lack her own mind. She doesn’t want it. She’s merely a victim and it’s her damaged, self-loathing psyche talking. Oh, purlease.
People responded to the piece extremely positively on Lust Bites and that did mean an awful lot to me. I’m pleased the article’s now getting to reach a wider audience. I consider myself primarily a fiction writer and, to be honest, I recognise only a handful of names in this collection (the awesome Violet Blue being one of them). A lot of the writers are US journalists and editors so I feel like I’m at an amazing party and now I’m starting to suspect my invite was actually intended for someone else so I’m knocking back the champers, wondering if I’m going to get rumbled.
Anyway, there’s some fascinating and thought-provoking pieces in the book which has its very own blog. Interestingly, in the book’s intro RKB says of last year’s Best Sex that many people said ‘they’d expected something far juicier from the racy cover. If you’re looking for the latest jerk off material, please check Cleis Press website.’ And I completely agree: these covers do a huge disservice to the content and misrepresent what the books are about. It’s a real shame and I do wish Cleis would stop defaulting at semi-nekkid babes for their non-LGBT books. (And that link takes you to what I consider to be the finest piece of non-fiction I ever wrote in the world of blog!)
Incidentally, the arse on last year’s Best Sex belongs to Georgina Baillie, granddaughter of ‘national treasure’, Andrew Sachs – which will mean something to UK readers but probably sod all to those in the US – and, trust me, you guys are best off out of it.
In other news, I wrote and subbed five short stories in January. Five! Five! Me! I think that’s a personal best and – yay! – three have already got the thumbs up. A great start to 2009!
Well, not actually, technically me but the narrator in Boot Camp, my story in Alison Tyler’s F is for Fetish which has just received a fabulous review on Alt.com.
Pop over to Alison’s blog to read the full review of this ‘anthology of startlingly original and hot stories’. And for a sexy excerpt from Boot Camp, check out Alison’s latest posting on Trollop Salon where I am Mouth of the Month or something like that.
Don’t you just love that picture of Becks? It’s everything an image shouldn’t be – all that crap and clutter in the background, all those confusing reflections and tilting lines. And yet, ahhhh, it is perfect. I love Becks when he’s got that suburban aesthetic going on. He looks so cheap and rough and dumb, and so very, very hot. And he is wearing filthy army boots.